


That Little Voice

by angelheaded_hipsters



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Basically I wrote this to make myself cry, Gen, I don't need to list the background characters do I?, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheaded_hipsters/pseuds/angelheaded_hipsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Chara, no!”</p>
<p>Frisk shot upright in bed, gasping for air, covered in sweat. They looked around wildly, and, half stunned, recognized the familiar curtains on their bedroom window, their door, cracked to reveal the soft glow of the hallway nightlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Little Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Now hear, you blissful powers underground –  
> Answer the call, send help.  
> Bless the children, give them triumph now. 
> 
> –Aeschylus, The Libation Bearers

_They took a deep breath and steadied themselves against the water cooler, listening to the receding clanks of armor-clad feet and the whooshing of steam vents somewhere in the distance. That was a close one._

_How many times had they died? No, it wouldn’t do to think about that; it just made their brain go all fuzzy. Now, it was important to enjoy the lull after the battle, to gather their strength. They sipped a little water from a paper cup and tried to quiet their mind._

_–ARE YOU KIDDING ME? She was throwing spears at you, you little pushover. You wouldn’t even go for it after she tried to impale you. Pathetic. It should be up to me. I’d slice her open and watch her guts pour onto the ground like the nasty little fish she is, just because I could, and I’d just love to watch you cry about all the blood, and the yellow fish guts, and the wetness of–_

_–Stop! Stop it; that’s horrible! Why won’t you leave me alone? Please… Just give me two seconds!_

_So much for the lull after the battle._

_–Really? After all we’ve been through? After I bandaged you up when you were too weak to even look at yourself, all the scratches and those messed up bruises (beautiful, in my opinion; better than last time)? After I dragged your body to somewhere the old goat would find it? After I gave you my… determination?_

_–You mean you dragged my body to somewhere that mean flower would find it._

_–Hey! Don’t talk bad about him, he’s–_

_–Everything you do, you do for yourself, not me! You just want me to kill and kill and nothing else! You used to be good, I know it, somehow, but now you’re just rotten!_

_–Oh, I can show you doing things just for myself. Like this!_

_That feeling again, of being shoved out of the driver’s seat of their own body. A switch pulled, a fizzing, like static electricity, but everywhere. No… No… They watched helplessly as their hand crept upwards, wrapped around their own neck. They could feel the tightness, the bursting around the eyeballs, the–_

––––––

“Chara, no!”

Frisk shot upright in bed, gasping for air, covered in sweat. They looked around wildly, and, half stunned, recognized the familiar curtains on their bedroom window, their door, cracked to reveal the soft glow of the hallway nightlight.

Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. 

That never happened. Chara knew better than that, didn’t they?

Frisk could call for Toriel or Sans, and one or both of them would be by their side in a moment. Toriel would bring a glass of warm milk, Sans, his comfiest sweater.

But that would make it three nights in a row, and Frisk felt bad about interrupting their sleep again. Besides, if this were back with Mom and Dad, no one would have come at all, even if they cried…

The point was, they were used to it.

They thought briefly about texting Alphys, who’d certainly be up and running on a Mountain Dew or three (her surface drink of choice) and hunched over some vials or a mysterious machine. Alphys would be more than willing to explain one of her latest breakthroughs to take Frisk’s mind off things, even if Frisk never had any idea what any of it meant. But no, there was always the chance that Frisk would let something slip from the dream, like the delight with which Chara had spoken of killing Undyne… It really was better to just keep quiet about this.

Besides, there was the part Frisk could never tell anyone about, no matter how understanding they might be. 

They missed it.

Not Chara’s bloodthirsty rants, of course, not their quiet indifference to any sort of small happiness, not how unimpressed they were by puzzles, or the number of times they’d called Frisk “weakling.”

But there were some things that just couldn’t be replaced, forgotten or dismissed.

That feeling as Frisk crawled their way back to consciousness, lying on a bed of golden flowers (a grave, really). It was a warmness, a closeness, a sort of comfortable crowding. Moments later, of course, Frisk would recoil at the sharp, acid flavor of Chara’s mind against their own. But those first seconds tasted like honey, or perhaps like butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

Then there was the way Chara knew how to move Frisk’s hands, wrapping the bloody bandage around their injured wrist as if they’d done it time and time before, the indifference to Frisk’s injuries that was comforting when it wasn’t terrifying.

And of course, that last moment before Asriel had gone. Chara had been so small in Frisk’s head by then, certainly not enough of a presence to move or speak. But as Frisk held Asriel while he cried, they felt something, something they’d never thought Chara was capable of feeling– a quiet bubble of joy, somewhere back in the small corner of their mind. After that, Chara was gone.

Frisk liked to think they were in a better place now. Maybe that was far from the truth. But Frisk didn’t have anyone in their head to hint at the truth anymore, not even in cryptic, caustic hints.

It was lonely.

Not as lonely as before, up on the mountain, knowing their parents hadn’t even noticed they were gone yet (Frisk was always the worrier of the family, Mom had scolded). But they’d grown used to that other voice in their head, even when it said terrible things.

Maybe tomorrow they’d ask Sans if he knew where Chara had gone. He always seemed to know more than he let on, and there were days when he wouldn’t stop talking about “timelines,” even when plied with a version of Papyrus’s spaghetti that glued one’s jaws shut (it was better than the frozen one Frisk had almost broke a tooth on).

For now, it was best for them to try to get some sleep. If they had more nightmares, it would just mean that they would get to see Chara again. Maybe one day they’d stop both wishing for and fearing this, but right now… they yawned and rolled over.


End file.
